Under the table, no one
gets in the way with giant shoes
my world can exist there –
until dinner

the houses, roads and construction projects
with all the thoughts of the people
I can read and answer –
with new plans

In the summer there are tables in the garden
with clips on the long cloths
swaying in the light of the wind –
my tent after dinner

which was small and dark at first
full of adults' legs
but cheerful with their voices –
my other world

I stroke the dry grass
clear ways for the ants
and breathe the strange air –
of roses and sweat